


Tumblr Fics

by Stoney



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blow Jobs, First Kiss, First Time, Foreskin Play, Hand Jobs, High School Crush, Just the Tip, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Power Dynamics, Pre-Hale Fire, Romance, Rough Sex, Skype Sex, Threesomes, Voyeurism, chapter 8 if you're wanting to skip that, each chapter is a fic, neighbors turned lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stoney/pseuds/Stoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Stiles Masturbates for Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic #1 [Image found here.](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/94681212953/derek-fuck-come-on-i-told-you-derek-said) [A young white man, visible beauty marks dotting his skin, sitting alone and masturbating enthusiastically, potentially for an audience off camera.]
> 
> Voyeurism & Masturbation Kink, Sterek.

“Derek…fuck. Come on.”

“I told you,” Derek said, his voice not breathy and needy like Stiles' was, no, it was still calm, and how the fuck was his voice still calm? Stiles thought he was about to start to cry he was so fucking turned on and close to coming his brains out.

“Not until you’ve come twice,” Derek said in that same calm voice. “Have you come twice?”

Stiles whined, his hand stuttering briefly on his dick. “No,” he answered, toes curling and gripping at the carpet. He started to bring his other hand up, needing to cup his balls, grip his thigh, stroke his belly, just do _something_ other than cling to the chair, but Derek made a disapproving noise, so Stiles left it where it was. He was going to show Derek that he actually could follow directions.

“Just one hand,” Derek said, shifting lower in his seat, his fingers woven together and resting on his flat belly. “That’s what we said.”

Stiles could see Derek’s erection pressing up against his jeans. It looked painful. He sucked the pad of his thumb, stroking his own hard on slowly and circling his wet thumb around the head as he said to Derek, “You should get that out.” He watched Derek’s gaze drop to Stiles’ mouth where he was licking his bottom lip. “Just…just let me _see_ it.”

Derek shook his head no. “This is only you right now. I only want to see you. See you come all over yourself, smell you.” His jaw tightened at that, like Derek was on the edge just thinking of Stiles popping off right in front of him, and fuck, having someone turned on by the thought of you blowing your load all over yourself? This was like a fucking dream. Derek smiled slowly, saying, “Do that, make a mess for me, and then you can see it.”

“Wanna fucking taste it,” Stiles said, eyes slipping closed briefly as he imagined it, _finally_ getting Derek in bed, finally getting to touch, getting to feel that heavy weight on his tongue. He twisted in the chair slightly, grinding his hips up to better fuck his hand, wishing he could just touch Derek instead of sitting across from him. His mouth fell open, tongue at the edge of his lip, thinking about how easy it would be for Derek to just feed his dick in right then and there, and _Christ_ , he wanted it.

Derek made a small, needy noise; Stiles dropped his head back against the chair, looking down at how Derek was sitting, legs spread, his dick a hard, thick line against denim, hands idly rubbing at his stomach as he watched Stiles get himself off. Watching Stiles like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

“Yeah?” Stiles said softly, working just the tips of his fingers over his shaft to keep from falling over the edge too quickly. “You want that? Want to shut me up with your dick? Maybe— Fuck.” He shuddered as his thumb grazed over his slit. “Maybe shove me face first into your pillows and show me how a big, strong werewolf likes to fuck? Fucking bend me in half and make me take it?”

He could hear a low growl building in Derek’s chest and fuck, he wanted that, wanted Derek to just wreck him. He barely had to the breath to ask Derek, “You want that?” God, he was close. He’d take whatever Derek gave him, as long as he could be with him, Christ, he just _wanted_.

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice sounding like it was barely human as he let one hand slip under his waistband, just holding himself. “I want _you_.” His heated gaze burned through Stiles, warmth filling and flooding Stiles from his core out to his limbs, his fingertips tingling and his body arcing in the chair as he dropped his head back again, coming all over his hand in hot, pulsing spurts, unable to help how he gasped Derek’s name, his body twitching and fucking up into the air like if he could just writhe high enough he’d find a hot body to press him back down.

He sat there for a moment to catch his breath, eyes closed and head back when he felt Derek standing over him. He opened his eyes to see Derek smiling softly as he stroked the back of his hand down Stiles’ cheek.

“So fucking good. You look…” Derek shook his head a little, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He dropped his hands to the chair back, bracketing Stiles in and leaned in, nuzzling Stiles’ cheek before kissing him slow and sweet. Stiles could barely kiss him back, mostly just let Derek lead things, happy to have Derek’s mouth on him again after so long. Derek kissed along his jaw to his ear where he said quietly, “You ready?”

Stiles nodded.

“Ready for me to show you how a werewolf likes to fuck?” Without warning, Derek scooped his arms under Stiles’ legs and hoisted him up like Stiles weighed nothing. Stiles sighed happily and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck as they moved to the bedroom.


	2. The One Where Derek Assumes Stiles Regrets It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic #2 [Image is here.](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/94112888458/it-was-stupid-it-was-impetuous-and-reactionary) [A dark-haired, bearded man covers his face, seemingly in shame, whilst standing in a running shower.]
> 
> Derek POV, angst, romance, Sterek

It was stupid. It was impetuous and reactionary and so fucking stupid of him. The rushing water drowned out the noise of his labored breathing. Well, it would for human ears. He didn’t want Stiles to wake up and hear him, maybe get the wrong idea, like _Stiles_ was the problem here. It wasn’t Stiles, it was Derek, always him fucking it up for everyone around him. He should have kept his distance. He should have kept everyone away from the destructive force that was Derek Hale, Stiles especially.  
He rubbed his hand over his face, washing soap out of his eyes as he thought of Stiles in his bed, arm over his head, mouth parted, face soft and tender with sleep, smiling, even, and Derek hadn’t seen Stiles smile in—

There had been plenty of smiling last night. Not at first, obviously, not when Stiles had been screaming in Derek's face for trying to save him. How he’d been furious that Derek had jumped in front of that assassin’s gun when Derek didn’t have a clue if they were wolfsbane bullets or not. How Stiles had sounded like the words were being ripped out of him as he told Derek that he couldn’t lose another person he cared about.

It was just—it had been so long since anyone had cared about Derek, cared enough to put their own life on the line, cared enough to be mad at him for sacrificing himself. Derek did the saving. He did that, and then he got the hell out of there, that’s what he did. That’s the purpose he served.

Stiles hadn’t let him get distance, though, had instead clutched at Derek’s shirt, pulling them close together, his voice broken and icy all at once as he’d said, “Do you get that? Do you get what you’re doing to me?”

He told himself that it could all be parsed down to instinct, really, Derek shutting Stiles up by kissing him. Well, it could be if Derek hadn’t wanted it so much, hadn’t thought about doing that for a long time, now. But he’d never done it, and with good reason. Stiles deserved better. And he just didn’t have room in his life for yet another person who he would inevitably destroy.

But Stiles kept yelling, kept pulling their bodies closer, kept saying that Derek _mattered_. Everyone had already left the loft by the time Stiles had started laying into him, so it was nothing to back Stiles up against the wall, let Stiles take what he needed. If Stiles needed to get it out of his system, Derek would let him.

It was something familiar to Derek, at least.

Except… Stiles kept dropping these soft kisses on Derek’s mouth, kept holding Derek’s face in his hands, kept asking if it was okay, could he, did Derek mind, did he want this, too, please, Derek. Stiles kept taking a moment to just breathe deep, to look at Derek and sigh, to take Derek’s clothes off slowly as if it was a moment to be savored. Derek had offered his body as a sort of punching bag for Stiles to work his adrenaline off on and instead, Stiles had treated him with delicacy and tenderness, had drawn sounds and feelings out of Derek that he’d thought he’d long since beaten out of himself, his ever-present guilt making pleasure and joy from sex an impossibility.

Stiles was nothing if not the exception to the rule, however.

Stiles whispered his name like it was something special, kissed him tenderly, kissed him fiercely, smiled and huffed these breathless laughs when Derek’s beard tickled his sides, never stopped touching Derek with his hands, his chest slick with sweat sliding over Derek’s back, legs wrapped around Derek’s waist, never letting them lose contact.

Derek couldn’t help but cry out, couldn’t help but give back everything he was getting, couldn’t help but hold on just as tightly as they both shook with their release, not willing to part even if it would have helped them catch their breath or clean up. It was overwhelming.

It was too much. It was too much, too good, too much potential for a fallout of astronomical proportions if he let himself feel anything beyond this being what it was: a simple release after a hell of a night.

Stiles would wake up, realize what had happened, and slink away while Derek lingered in the shower. And he should. He _should_ leave, should realize how fucking destructive Derek was with regards to relationships and just get the hell out of there while he still could.

It’s what Derek wanted. He did. He didn’t want Stiles to still be there, didn’t want to see the regret on his face. See how much of a mistake this was in Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles would go. And Derek would let him. He’d put a wall back up around himself and chalk it up as a mistake they’d made. And he didn’t have room for mistakes—not with his luck for turning them into other people’s nightmares. It didn’t matter how he felt. It didn’t matter that this had been the first time he’d let himself go, let himself hope that maybe, just maybe he deserved a little happiness, maybe he even deserved someone like Stiles.

But he knew better. And soon, Stiles would wake up and know it, too.

He pressed his forehead against the wall of the shower, his chest aching and empty, when he felt cool air on his back as the shower curtain was pulled aside.

“Hey. Room in here for me?” Stiles asked, his voice croaky and rusty with sleep. He slipped his arms around Derek’s waist and dropped a line of kisses from the nape of Derek’s neck to the round ball of his shoulder.

Derek took a few deep, steadying breaths before dropping his hand to where Stiles’ lay at his belly, fingertips raking over Derek’s abs and sending tiny tremors along the skin on his arms. He closed his eyes and sighed as Stiles hooked his chin over Derek’s shoulder. “Yeah. There is.”


	3. The One Where Stiles Blows Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic #3 [Image found here.](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/85259761813/derek-derek-tilted-his-chin-up-one-arm-thrown) [Bearded, dark-haired man, naked, covering his face to stifle noises of pleasure as he leans back.]
> 
> Derek POV, Stiles home from college, enthusiastic oral sex.

“Derek.”

Derek tilted his chin up, one arm thrown over his face as Stiles sank his hot, wet mouth over Derek’s dick again, sucking it down to the root before pulling back off him slowly and with a lewd noise.

“Derek, I want you to watch.”

Stiles’ voice was raw and rough from deep throating, and Derek knew that if he looked down, if he saw how obscene Stiles’ pink mouth looked stretched around him, stared at the fan of Stiles’ eyelashes on his cheeks like he couldn’t get enough of Derek’s taste, like he was overwhelmed with pleasure just from sucking Derek off, like Derek himself was something that brought him pleasure… Derek would pop off right then. And with Stiles away at school, it had been so long since they’d been together that he wanted it to last as long as possible.

Stiles raked his fingertips up Derek’s belly and chest (he’d stopped waxing after Stiles confessed to how hot it got him, how much he loved it when Derek was so _masculine_ in every way), his mouth relentless on Derek’s dick, little noises spilling from him like he was more turned on by giving head than he would be getting it, and Derek couldn’t help the tiny whimper that slipped out.

Pulling off with a long, languorous drag of his tongue, Stiles smiled up at him, cocky and sure of himself and his ability to reduce Derek to a quivering mess, and with good reason. Derek had never thought a blow job could be something tender, not until Stiles took all of his preconceived notions about sex and intimacy and turned them on their head.

“Missed you,” he said, taking one of Derek’s hands and putting it on his head. “Missed this.”

Derek could feel Stiles smiling against his inner thigh when Derek threaded his fingers through Stiles’ hair. He finally chanced a glance down only to see Stiles looking up under his eyelashes at him, just before he slipped one fingertip behind Derek’s balls, sucking gently on the head of Derek’s dick. When Derek groaned and came down his throat, Stiles somehow managed to smirk while swallowing. He stood up, licked his lips and said, “Seems like you missed me, too.”

Derek scooped his hands between Stiles’ thighs, hoisting Stiles up against his body to be carried to the bed just a few feet away. Derek would just have to take his time with Stiles. Neither of them had a problem with that plan.


	4. The One Where Derek Sends a Nude Pic to Kate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic #4 [Image found here.](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/88606719683/derek-waited-until-the-team-was-at-an-away-game-to) [Young man, dark hair, lean and fit and completely naked, snapping a selfie in what appears to be a hotel room.]
> 
> Derek, pre-Hale fire, WARNING: **mentions of sex with Kate Argent**.

Derek waited until the team was at an away game to take the picture. Somehow it felt weird to take a dirty picture in his house, like everyone in the family would know what he was doing. It was taking everything in him to keep his relationship with Kate a secret like she wanted; it made sense, though. She was older and his parents probably wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t get what they felt for each other. He didn’t want to add any more stress to what was turning into the best thing in his life.

His feelings for Paige were childish. He understood that now, especially now that he and Kate were together. He still couldn’t believe an older woman—sophisticated and worldly and pure sex on two legs—was interested in him, but she was. She wanted to know _everything_ about him. Even about his family. Little things that showed she cared, like how his parents were doing, were they working long, hard hours at their job, did the Hales all get together for family dinner on any particular night. It was nice. It was how she showed him she cared.

Not that he wanted to talk about his family when he was with her, though. No, when he was with her he only wanted to hear her whiskey-burned voice gasping, “Yeah, like that,” and “Fuck, you’re so good,” and one that somehow made him feel both dirty and proud, “God, you’re like a fucking _animal_.”

If she’d only known. Maybe he’d tell her. Maybe soon.

The night before the team left, she’d said that she had something for him, a surprise, but wouldn’t say anything else, just bit her lip, smiled, and cupped him through his jeans. He’d gone down on her until his jaw ached, a sort of apology for not being there the next day for it, his nose and mouth buried in her where she was musky sweet, her soft thighs pressed against his ears and her fingernails raking over his skull.

“I want a picture,” she’d rasped, riding him into the leather of the backseat of her SUV. “Send me a picture when you’re gone; I’m going to miss you. Wanna see that smile of yours.”

And now he had a half hour before Jonathan got back from his meeting with Coach. It felt weird to smile while doing this, though. Plus, given the way she’d been all over his dick, teasing him about how hairy he was, he thought he’d show her what he’d been up to with his personal trimmer.

Maybe when he got back he’d tell her, tell her that she’d been right about him being an animal. Of a sort. He’d already told her he loved her. It was time to tell her everything. In the meantime, he’d bare himself in another way.

He took the picture.


	5. The One with Stiles-Derek as Frat Boys on the Down Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic #5 [Image located here.](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/95762228838/shh-shh-stiles-eyes-rolled-back-and-he-bit) [.Gif of a lean, dark-haired boy fucking into a skinny, hairy-legged boy (unseen) on the floor and in between two beds, both occupied by sleeping young men, having rough sex.]
> 
> Stiles POV, Sterek, AU, Fraternity, rough but welcomed sex. Potential of getting caught upping the ante.

“Shh, shh!”

Stiles’ eyes rolled back, and he bit his lip to hold back a moan as Derek thrust in again, hard, the breath punching out of him as their skin slapped together before slowly pulling out, only to drive back in again and again.

“ _Derek_ …so fucking good,” he panted, unable to hold back. They had to be quiet, they had to. The other guys were right there in their fucking beds. Hell, Stiles’ foot had kicked into Jackson’s on accident a minute ago, but Jackson just muttered in his sleep and rolled over to his stomach. But it wasn’t like he was going to make Derek _stop_ , not when his dick was pounding inside so good, hitting everything just right and lighting Stiles up until his fingertips were tingling and his eyes were stinging with unshed tears.

Derek pulled back from where he’d been sucking a mark low on Stiles’ neck. He was grinning, lips red and slightly swollen, hair hanging over his forehead while twisting his hips in a tight little circle as if he could get his dick in even further, and for a moment Stiles couldn’t _breathe_ he was so in love with this boy.

“Your back okay, babe?” Derek said softly, still slowly grinding in and out but dragging the tip of his nose along Stiles’ hairline, dropping gentle kisses at Stiles’ temple and the apple of his cheek.

He didn’t think he was capable of coherent speech beyond moans and Derek’s name, so he simply nodded. Even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t do anything to make this stop, not even for a moment. It was so rare to have a chance to be together like this. The frat house was always busy, guys sneaking their girlfriends in for a few hours, not caring if anyone woke up from the noises they would make. It wasn’t like that for _them_ , though, couldn’t be. They had to keep it quiet, keep it secret.

That night Stiles had been so desperate for Derek’s touch that he barely waited for Scott to start snoring before pulling Derek on top of him onto the floor, hand slipping under the elastic waistband of Derek’s briefs to cup and stroke him before his back even hit the carpet.

“Yeah?” Derek said, nodding. “Good.” Derek scooted up a little on his knees and spreading Stiles’ legs even wider, his hands a barrier between Stiles’ head and the wall as he dug in and began thrusting harder, the slap of their bodies sounding loud and obscene in the quiet of their shared room.

Stiles gasped, biting back a moan as the feeling of that hot fucking solid bar of Derek’s dick rocking inside of him began sliding slick and sweet over his prostate just right. A few more thrusts and he’d be coming. “Close… _fuck_.” Derek covered his mouth with his own, his tongue laving over Stiles’ in the same rhythm that they were fucking.

Derek held him tightly for a moment, then turned his head, showing Stiles’ his neck. With his mouth, Stiles clamped down on the thick muscle where Derek’s neck met his shoulder, not hard enough to break skin but enough to leave a mark, enough to get Derek’s rhythm to stutter briefly, enough to muffle his own voice as his orgasm hit him hard, his body locking up as he shot off between their bodies, hot and slick. Derek pressed his mouth to Stiles’ ear, his voice desperate as he whispered, “Fucking love how you do that. God… _fuck_.”

Stiles buried his hands in Derek’s hair, holding him still and kissing him slow and filthy, Derek’s cock pulsing inside as he came, too. Derek dropped his weight down, panting and nosing at Stiles’ cheek, his weight a comfort.

“Next semester,” Derek whispered into Stiles’ ear, his lips light and tender against the delicate curl, “we’ll petition to take the double room when Danny graduates. Wanna do this to you every night. Need to.”

Stiles smiled and nodded, exhausted in the best of ways, running his calf over the back of Derek’s thigh.


	6. The Sterek '50s AU with a Jealous and Predatory Parrish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic #6 [Image is found here, SFW.](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/95957853598/happy-5000th-post-have-some-quasi-threesome) [Image of Dylan O'Brien's Teen Vogue photo shoot, a young, lean man in the desert sun as he leans against an old-school soda machine outside a diner/garage. His shirt and face are covered with motor grease stains.]
> 
> Stiles POV, brief Parrish POV, Derek POV. Set in the '50s. Abuse of power/authority dynamic regarding Parrish's interest in Stiles, mentions of Stiles and Heather making out, graphic sex with Derek, Parrish watching and becoming furiously jealous, and his misguided attempt to get involved. Sterek-centric with momentary threesome.

Let's say this image is really about ’50s Stiles, small town, desperate to get out, maybe make it all the way down to Hollywood where he hears there are boys like him, boys who like the girls, sure, because hey, they’re all soft and smell good, and Heather even slipped her sweet little hand into his Levis in the backseat at the drive in that one time, but.

She also didn’t like getting his spunk all over her, and made a face, wiping it off on his jacket lining, and that was his good jacket, okay? It wasn’t like they paid his pops enough bread to just pop into the Sears & Roebuck for a new one.

But down there in Hollywood they have guys who…like boys, too. Or young men. Guys like Deputy Parrish. See, when the deputy pulled him over for speeding late Saturday night, apparently not caring that Stiles was his boss’ son, pulling him out of his truck’s cab in the dark of the roadside, right by the big highway sign for Brylcream where the lights had been busted out by hooligans (Scott and Stiles, actually), and when he pressed up against Stiles’ back, patting him down and kicking his feet wider to really search—jeez, he didn’t carry a piece in his Fruit of the Looms, for crying out loud—Parrish’s hand had cupped his junk for a lot longer than was necessary for a routine search. No, his hand was gripping and rubbing, soft, then hard, then giving him a good squeeze, the kind you fuck into.

And when he’d pressed all up along Stiles’ back, nosing along Stiles’ hairline, he’d whispered, “So it’s like that, is it? I thought so.” He’d taken Stiles’ shudder as permission, rubbing his hand roughly over the growing bulge in Stiles’ jeans, fingertips drawing along its length, hand gripping him through the denim and stroking, stroking, but stopping before Stiles could blow his load, before Stiles could make a real mess of himself in more ways than one.

No, he’d instead taken Stiles’ earlobe between his teeth and gave it a little tug and said, “You feel like speeding again, tomorrow night? Hmm? Now you know where the, uh, speed trap is,” and after dragging his fingertips roughly up the length of Stiles’ dick, pulled away completely, leaving Stiles heaving against the side of his truck, his breath in pained hitches, his dick aching in his pants, and his heart racing. He’d turned in time to see Parish adjusting himself in his uniform pants with a self-satisfied sort of grin before pulling away in his patrol car with a little bweep of the siren in warning or acknowledgement, Stiles didn’t know.

He’d liked being with Heather, he did. She even let him get a hand under her bra that one time, and she wasn’t as big breasted as Lydia, but it was nice. Really nice, all soft and squishy, and Heather had made these amazing sounds that went straight to his cock. But when he jerked it alone at night, it was with the feeling of a hard, hot body pressed up against his back, hands maybe bigger than his on his dick, a rough cheek against the back of his neck, a thick, fat line of cock rubbing up against the back of his ass, fuck.

But he barely made enough for gas and the occasional cold pop at the Fuel-N-Go, let alone get him down the road to southern California to see what that was all about, see if those parties he’d read about, the ones with all the stories of “confirmed bachelors”, were maybe just what he needed to fit that hole in his life.

And he both loved and hated it when Parrish came in to the Fuel-N-Go, patting the hood of his patrol car with a knowing grin, calling out, “Fill ‘er up, kid,” the way Parrish would lean against the support post watching as Stiles washed the windshield. Yeah, maybe he didn’t mind so much when he had to really stretch to get across the whole thing, maybe his shirt rode up, and maybe he drank down all of those hungry looks Parrish gave him every time. Who didn’t want to be wanted?

But that all changed when Derek Hale came back in town. There was Parrish, mirrored sunglasses hiding his gaze (Stiles just knew Parrish was checking out his ass), as Stiles bent under the hood, checking the oil when he heard a loud engine roaring up, the ding-ding of the bell, a gruff but strangely soft voice saying, “When you’re done helping Chester the Molester over there, top off the fuel, huh?”

He pulled out from under the hood, barely missed cracking his skull open on the heavy metal, to see a goddamn vision in black leather, tight black denim, and rough-looking stubble swing gracefully off a beautiful motorcycle. The guy looked like a greaser, like a guy who lived for trouble, like a guy who had seen and done things Stiles had only dreamed up, waking up sweaty, breathless and covered in come.

He looked like the answer to everything Stiles hadn’t known he was so damn hungry for.

And we’ll say that Parrish is instantly pissed off, hell, he hasn’t even gotten Stiles’ sweet, pink mouth on his dick yet—he’d been working up to that, slowly but surely after a second and third hand job on the side of the road, late at night, soaking up Stiles’ sweet little gasps and grunts—and he knows just what that look on Stiles’ face means as the kid stares at this newcomer. So maybe he’s just looking out for the kid—it’s his boss’ son, after all—when he intervenes.

And this fucking guy, this grease ball, hoodlum, Elvis-wannabe, he just laughs when Jordan steps between Stiles and who the hell ever this guy is. Just scans Jordan up and down like he knows everything going on just from fucking _looking_.

And we’ll say that Derek has seen his fair share of cops like Parrish, cops who wear their authority like a weapon, and knows instantly that Jordan—even with that baby face, those pretty lips—is a chickenhawk and is always going to _be_ a chickenhawk. He’s always gonna like them a little young, a little pretty, a little insecure.

So maybe this all starts as a way for Derek to shove it in this cop’s face, the way the kid—Stiles, who the hell wants that as a nickname?—stares at Derek, hungry and a little desperate, but then Derek goes in, buys himself an icy cold pop and one for the kid as a sort of tip, and when he sees Stiles tip his head back, his throat long and lean, the cold, round neck of the glass against his gorgeous mouth, that it becomes something more, it becomes something about the hot coil of want low in his gut when he sees Stiles’ long fingers, the smear of dirt on his cheek, envisions wiping that off with his thumb then tracing Stiles’ lip as they’re stretched around his dick with that thumb, seeing Stiles on his knees under him, maybe behind him, fuck. With those broad shoulders and strong forearms pinning Derek down… Yeah, that.

He leans against the pole opposite Parrish and stares back, smiling. Parrish isn’t smiling, of course not. Stiles slams the hood of the patrol car, saying, “You’re good to go, Deputy.”

And you can tell that Parrish gets off on the kid calling him that, maybe tries to handcuff him, fucking into him from behind, making it hurt until Stiles pants out his job title, so it makes Derek feel even better when Stiles instantly turns to Derek, grinning, obviously checking Derek out, eyes lingering on the outline of Derek’s dick in his jeans, the hint of chest hair under his t-shirt, Derek’s mouth. He can see Parrish growing more and more pissed off over the kid’s shoulder.

Good. Guys like this deputy… Doesn’t matter. He shows Stiles where the tank is, watches him crouch down next to the bike, feels his dick twitch in his pants when Stiles runs his hands reverently over the leather seat, can picture spreading Stiles over the seat, picture spreading his ass and getting his tongue in there, completely sure he’d be the first to do anything like that.

Before Parrish can drive off, he has the window rolled down and whistles once, sharply. Stiles looks up from where he’s put the nozzle in the tank of Derek’s bike like this happens often, like Parrish just gets what he wants from him with a harsh command, and Parrish says with a voice filled with dangerous caution, “Your dad and me will be on patrol tonight,” and looks at Stiles like there’s something more in his words.

Derek pushes off from the pole, watching Parrish until he’s standing close enough to Stiles to feel his body heat seep into the denim of Derek’s Levi’s. He finally turns his head to look down at Stiles, almost feeling a sense of de ja vu from his earlier thoughts, and says pointedly, “Know anywhere cool to hang when it’s dark?”

He watches Stiles swallow and lick his lips before recognition shines back in his eyes. Stiles smiles, slow and wicked, and nods once. “Yeah. I get off work at six. Maybe I could show you?”

Derek smiles back, doesn’t say a word, just nods.

Stiles says carefully, like he wants everyone to hear exactly what he means, “I know how to avoid all the speed traps,” and the deputy drives off, almost peeling out a little.

Cut to Stiles getting off work, Derek pulling up and straddling his motorcycle, motioning with his head for Stiles to climb on behind him, which he does. Stiles, hands to himself for a moment, says, “Take a right, go until you can’t see the town lights,” and they take off, Stiles’ hands finally migrating tight at Derek’s waist, a smile on Derek’s face when he feels Stiles get brave enough to press up against his back, the wind blowing his carefully styled hair in a good way, the sun setting behind them so it’s dark where they’re headed.

Finally they pull onto the embankment where the trees get thick and off onto a beaten path, Derek letting the engine idle as he drops his feet and walks the bike into a thick copse, finally dropping the kickstand and shutting off the engine; the only sounds are the creatures of the forest and Stiles’ heavy breathing.

“You sure you want this, kid?” Derek asks before turning around.

Instead of answering, he gets shaking but determined hands at his belt and jeans, pulling them down and open.

“Grab the Vaseline out of the saddle bag,” he says, his voice sounding loud to his ears in the quiet. And then he’s off the bike, a hand reaching out to pull Stiles off and push him up against a tree, Derek’s mouth at that long neck, hands working under that dirty, oil-stained shirt, and Stiles is making these pained amazing little noises, gasps and whines, and once, when Derek gently pinches the smattering of hair around a nipple, a throaty laugh.

He flips Stiles around, leaving Stiles’ shirt on so the bark doesn’t cut into his skin, and Jesus H. Christ, he wants to spread this boy out on his bed at the Super 8, wants to see that creamy skin in all its glory, but instead he takes Stiles’ firm, small and tight ass cheeks in each hand, kneading and pulling, thumbs working further and further down the crack until he’s tracing the rough rim of Stiles’ asshole.

He presses his face against the back of Stiles’ neck, eyes closing when he hears the happy sigh Stiles makes, and says, “I’m going to show you what I want you to do to me later,” and grins when Stiles makes a guttural moan around the word, “Oh, fuck.”

Derek fumbles the container of Vaseline between his knees after popping off the lid. He scoops his fingers down in it, and as he traces Stiles’ rim, says softly, “We’ll clean you out next time; I’ll kiss you slow and sweet just here. You like that?” and when Stiles nods, groaning, he slips one finger in, just the tip, suckling on a patch of clean tasting skin behind Stiles’ ear as he fucks in slowly, getting deeper and letting Stiles rock back against him. Lets Stiles set the pace, figures this is the first time Stiles has been given that sort of control, loves that _he’s_ giving it to him.

After a long time, he gets two thick fingers in there, twisting and stroking and lubing up that tight, fucking scorching channel, he nuzzles the side of Stiles’ head and asks again, “You sure?”

Stiles nods, his mouth open, and cants his ass back, rubbing Derek’s clothed hard on between his ass cheeks, and that’s all Derek needs to hear. He unzips, pulls his aching dick out, wipes his fingers off on it and slides it between Stiles’ cheeks, testing him to make sure, then finds his hot, stretched opening and slowly, slowly, agonizingly slow does he press in, because he remembers when someone first did this to him, how much they hadn’t cared that _he’d_ enjoyed it, and there’s something about Stiles that makes him protective, makes him want Stiles to want _him_ , too. Goddamn.

Stiles presses back, taking him in all the way, babbling about how good, so good, fuck, _so good, Derek_ , and Derek has to press his forehead against the cotton-covered skin between Stiles’ shoulder blades and take a deep breath, because he wants to last. Fuck, he doesn’t want to exist in a world where he’s not buried in Stiles’ perfect ass, holding his soft belly, stroking the wiry hairs under Stiles’ navel, drinking in the delicious, the fucking _desperate_ noises this kid is making in his arms.

The Vaseline container clatters to the forest floor as he starts fucking into Stiles in earnest, hard thrusts in, a grind of his hips to light up all the nerves around Stiles’ rim, slowly pulling out as he kisses all along Stiles’ beautiful neck and behind his ear, once glancing a kiss against Stiles’ mouth, before repeating it all over again.

The forest has gone quiet, and the only sounds to be heard is Stiles gasping each time Derek slams home, the little grunts Derek makes when Stiles’ asshole clenches around him, trying to keep Derek from pulling out, and the wet slap-slap-slap of their bodies. Until suddenly there’s the unmistakable sound of a car rolling quietly over the detritus of the forest floor towards their secret spot, and then there are lights flooding the location where they’re fucking.

Stiles grabs over his shoulder, holding Derek in place and panting, “Don’t stop, don’t, fuck, I’m so close, fuck him.”

So Derek doesn’t. He hears a door open and keeps fucking into Stiles’ tight heat, mouth pressed against Stiles’ shoulder. Hears that door slam shut and slams harder into Stiles body, hands rubbing soothing circles into Stiles’ belly and chest. Hears footsteps nearing them and drags his open mouth up the column of Stiles’ neck, saying, “You like that, baby?” When Stiles pushes one of his hands down to his hard and leaking dick, moans softly to cover up the angry, harsh breathing of someone approaching behind him.

He rests his cheek against Stiles’ nape, stroking his nice, long dick in time with his thrusts and sees the Deputy, snorting an angry breath like a bull and Derek smiles, grinds his dick in as far as it can possibly go just to get Stiles to arch back breathlessly against him.

“Better take care of that, Deputy,” Derek says, nodding at the visible erection in Parrish’s tan uniform pants. Stiles drops his head back on Derek’s shoulder, looking, and Derek can feel his sharp, singular laugh.

Stiles, hands braced against the tree, arches back rhythmically onto Derek’s dick, still watching the Deputy with a soft smile on his face. “You like seeing this, don’t you, Jordan?”

The Deputy huffs out a pained-looking breath, but he unzips, yes he fucking does, and pulls out his dick, starts stroking it, mouth open and scowling. Derek draws the line at him reaching out to cup Stiles’ cheek, though, barking out, “Hands off. He’s mine.”

Stiles turns his head, smiling, eyes half-lidded as he smiles at Derek, and breathes, “Yeah. If you want.”

Derek grips Stiles’ hips, keeping him there, never wanting him to leave, really, and with forehead pressing tight into the base of Stiles’ neck, groans out, “Yeah, I want, want you, Christ,” and thrusts in sharply, his orgasm hitting him hard and sudden. He bites down on Stiles’ shoulder as his dick pulses inside.

Stiles is still hard and leaking, though, so he steps to the side, turning them both as he’s still embedded in Stiles’ tight heat, his dick jerking weakly as he comes down, and nods at Parrish. “Finish him off.”

Without another word, the deputy sinks to his knees and takes Stiles into his mouth. Stiles’ entire body shudders, but he reaches back with one arm, holds Derek there, and kisses him, mouth barely moving, tongue stroking against Derek’s, breath sweet as he gasps, shudders and comes down the deputy’s throat.

Derek pulls out but pushes his middle finger back in, giving Stiles something to clench onto, and turns Stiles to lean back against the tree, kissing him deep and slow as his middle finger works slowly in and out, slick and wet and perfect.

Still kissing him, Stiles breathes into Derek’s mouth, “That’s what you want me to do to you?’

Derek can’t get hard again, but his dick didn’t get that message, trying valiantly to get back to business. He smiles and nods. After a capturing Stiles’ mouth in a deep, slow kiss, he says, “We’re good here,” pulling back and nosing along Stiles’ cheek. “Got it all under control, officer.”

“Fuck that,” Parrish says, still on his knees, “I—”

“Jordan,” Stiles said, staring at Derek and raking his fingertips through Derek’s stubble at his jawline. “I don’t want you. I’ll tell my dad.”

Derek stares into Stiles’ amber eyes, mostly pupil in the dark of the burgeoning evening, and smiles as he hears footsteps backing away, a car engine turning over and then slowly backing away, Stiles’ fingers working over and over through the hair over Derek’s ears.

“So…you want it just like that?” Stiles said, smiling.

Derek presses one more kiss against Stiles’ mouth, the tip of his tongue drawing along the seam. He’s fucked. This kid is going to get under his skin like no one has before. He knows it. Seeing the eager light in Stiles’ eyes, feeling the way their bodies are pressed up against each other, the way Stiles was clenching and relaxing around Derek’s finger…he couldn’t be happier.

“Just like that. You up for it?”


	7. The One with Stiles' Obsession for Derek's foreskin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From my NSFW tag, none of these are connected, they're writing exercises when I find an...inspirational photo.
> 
> Uncut dicks are Stiles' jam. Stiles is Derek's jam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off this image:[A close up of an uncut penis, long fingers walking down the length.](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/97607557698/uncut-and-up-close-tumblr-fic-pure-pr0n)

“So...that thing we talked about,” Stiles says, not making eye contact. “That thing you said you'd show me.” 

Derek can't help but watch Stiles' fingers. They flick against each other, they trace the hem of Stiles' shirt, they knot together, long and slightly knobby, the nails bitten off on the right index finger and thumb. He has to watch them because the cloying scent of want pouring off of Stiles is going straight to his head, making it hard to keep his own hands to himself, shit, making his dick hard.

“What...thing?” Derek asks, going red in the face and adjusting himself in his jeans. Of course Stiles remembered. Of course he did. Anyone else would have taken it for locker room trash talk, some casual toss off statement, the sort of thing guys say to each other to get a rise out of—okay, bad choice of words. It was just the sort of thing guys said to each other. It didn't mean anything.

Except it apparently did to Stiles.

“What...” Stiles looks up at him them, and he looks so _disappointed_. Like not getting to see Derek's uncut dick is going to ruin his life. “It's just,” Stiles says licking his bottom lip. Derek can't help but stare at how full and plush Stiles' bottom lip is. How pink his mouth is. How fucking good he smells right now. “It's just that you sort of promised. And...yeah. You promised me I could see it, Derek.”

Derek feels breathless. It's just that it's been such a long time since Derek has— He can't remember a time when someone seemed so desperate just to _see_ his dick, for fuck's sake. Derek notices that Stiles' fingers are rubbing along the edge of his own cock, visibly growing hard. Yeah, someone wanting to see Derek's dick—practically _begging_ to see it—is a hell of an ego boost.

“I did?” Derek breathes out, watches Stiles swallow, follows the line of Stiles' neck working as his Adam's apple bobs up and down. Feels his skin prickle all over when Stiles finally looks him in the eye, hopeful and needy, nodding an affirmative as he rubs his hard on like just the _thought_ of getting to see an uncircumcised dick is enough for Stiles to pop off. Jesus.

“Is there a lot?” Stiles asks, his voice barely above a whisper and heart pounding. “Extra skin, I mean.”

“Fuck,” Derek mutters, hands moving to his belt, loosening it. Stiles mouth drops open slightly, a tiny gasp of a breath when Derek unbuttons his fly with a harsh tug. Stiles' eyes are riveted on Derek's crotch and his hand reaches out like he wants to touch. Yeah, he wants more than just to see. Wants a lot more, Derek guesses. 

“Doesn't it chafe?” Stiles asks. “Going commando?”

Derek shoves his jeans down just past his ass then rests his palms on his thighs, not touching himself even though he wants to cup his dick, wants to stroke it and fucking present it to Stiles, the hell? He shakes his head to clear it from the fog of lust clouding his thoughts, hands twitching at his sides. “No. Werewolf. If it does, it heals. I don't even think about it.”

Stiles licks his lips again, and Derek feels his cock jump a little, feels his pulse start to throb between his legs where his dick hangs heavy.

“Bet it's soft,” Stiles says, swaying closer. Derek doesn't even think he's aware he moved. “Kind of silky, like. Bet it gets wet, huh? Wetter than if you were cut? Slick under that extra skin?”

“Christ, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice soft and ready to break.

Stiles looks up at him then, and the lust in his eyes almost knocks Derek back a step. Jesus. This is _Stiles_ , Stiles who has been there for him, Stiles who has argued with him over everything under the sun, who threatened to let him die, who saved his life over and over again, who knows Derek better than almost anyone, who Derek trusts more than just about anyone else. Who Derek hasn't been able to stop thinking of for months, now, thrusting into his hand in the dark, a pillow over his face to stifle how he moans Stiles' name when he comes.

Stiles, who clearly wants to get his hand—long fingers, broad back, smattering of dark hair—on Derek's dick.

“Please.” Stiles sways closer, one hand on his own dick, squeezing it through his jeans, the other palm up, reaching for Derek's. “I just wanna know what it feels like.”

Derek can't look away from how Stiles is staring at him, gaze intent on Derek's face as he asks, “That's all you want?”

Stiles shakes his head, biting his lip. Derek closes his eyes, his mouth dropping open slightly. The smell of arousal, of want, of _pack_ is getting to him like nothing has in a long, long time. He can taste it on the back of his tongue, wonders what Stiles' come would taste like, if it would be the same flavor. The sharp, aching wave of need that pulses deep and hot in his groin almost hurts.

“Turn around?” Stiles asks, leaving Derek confused. “I just... Let me see how it looks, you know, like if it was mine.”

“Take your shirt off. Jeans, too,” Derek says, feeling steady and sure as he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it carelessly to the floor.

“Fuck, yeah,” Stiles mutters to himself, ripping off his shirts and tugging his jeans down, kicking them off his long legs without any finesse. He comes close then, hands nervous at Derek's waist before settling firm, turning him around. Derek lets himself be manhandled, the novelty of it making his head spin. Stiles has surprisingly strong hands for a human.

Stiles walks them to the kitchen island, shudders out a breath and pushes up against Derek's back, his chin hooking over Derek's shoulder. “Lemme see it. Show me.”

Derek lets go of where he's gripping the edge of the wooden counter, cups himself and puts his dick and balls on top of it. The wood is warm and well-worn; he can feel the edge of Stiles' teeth on the ball of his shoulder, his mouth hot and moist as he breathes out a sigh. With a deep breath, Derek takes Stiles' left hand and presses his palm against Derek's chest. If they're going to do this, and it's pretty clear they are, they're going to do it how Derek likes. He wants to be consumed, enveloped when he fucks. It's supposed to mean something. 

It will. It does.

Stiles sags against him, mouthing along the crook of Derek's neck and shoulder, drawing out breathy gasps and moans from him.

“Touch me,” Derek says, his voice barely a whisper, but in the empty loft, it feels like it's booming. It should feel shameful to be so needy, he thinks. But he doesn't feel that way. Not now.

When Stiles slides his right hand down Derek's back, over his ribs, fingertips raking back and forth through the soft trail of hair under his navel, he stops thinking about anything but what Stiles is doing to him. Stiles rubs over Derek's chest, catching the hairs there between his fingers and tugging a little, making Derek gasp and rub back against the hard line of Stiles' body.

“Yeah?” Stiles breathes, his lip catching on the shell of Derek's ear. “Like this?” he says, rolling Derek's nipple between his fingers, pinching a little. Derek's mouth drops open more and he nods, grinding his ass back against Stiles, not surprised to feel the solid heat of Stiles' cock fattening up in the cleft of Derek's ass.

Stiles huffs a little laugh and walks his fingers through the thatch of hair just above Derek's dick and across its length. He presses down, just hard enough so that it feels like Derek's dick is being pinned to the wood, and he gasps. Stiles makes a shushing noise, nuzzling along the back of Derek's head, lipping at his hair. He finally gets to Derek's foreskin and softly caresses it between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it over the head, kneading for a moment, then pulling it back. He traces the pad of his thumb over the head of Derek's dick, round and around with a sort of reverence to it, then repeats the whole thing over again.

Derek lets his head drop back to Stiles' shoulder, eyes closed, giving over to the sensation of being held up, of being held in place, of being stroked to fullness.

“Knew you'd be wet,” Stiles says, biting softly into Derek's neck, making Derek's entire body shudder.

“Stiles,” Derek whines, unable to thrust forward because of the counter, unable to do more than barely grind back onto Stiles, Stiles' cock nestled snugly between Derek's ass cheeks like a promise of what's to come.

Stiles continues stroking Derek slowly, thumb circling, light pressure as his thumb and index finger make a ring, pulling the foreskin back and picking up slick, sliding down the entire length and back up again. His other hand stops tweaking Derek's nipple, moving to hold Derek in place at the base of his neck. It's nothing dangerous, not really, but Derek is realizing that he might like it if it was. Being with Stiles like this...it _feels_ dangerous. What he feels...what he _wants_ from Stiles is huge, maybe bigger than the two of them could deal with. Now that they're here...

“Let me take care of you,” Stiles moans, his mouth a hot, wet presence along Derek's neck. “Let me make you come. Derek, _please_.”

Derek's heart is racing, his knees are threatening to buckle from the way Stiles works his hand over Derek's dick, and he can't speak. He nods, though, and turns Stiles' face towards him for a kiss. Jesus, it feels like he's two seconds away from coming, and they haven't even kissed yet. Stiles makes a pitiful sort of noise as his mouth opens against Derek's. The angle is all wrong, so Stiles drops his forehead against Derek's jaw. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Get on the counter.”

Fuck. Derek had no idea he'd love being told what to do as much as he does right now. Maybe it's just because it's Stiles. He turns and hops up easily when Stiles gets between his legs, grips behind Derek's knees and pulls their bodies close. His mouth is on Derek's immediately, tongue working, breath blowing hard from his nostrils as he rolls his body up against Derek's languidly. Derek's slightly higher than Stiles this way; he likes it. Likes how Stiles has to stretch his neck out to keep their mouths connected.

Without warning, Stiles pulls back and drops to his knees, a hand going back to Derek's cock. He pulls the foreskin down over the head and puts the tip of his tongue inside the opening, running it around in a circle under the sensitive skin, wet heat enveloping the head of Derek's dick as Stiles fucking _savors_ it, christ the _noises_ Stiles makes.

Derek groans, unable to look away. He buries his hands in Stiles' hair, long and soft and free of the product he used to constantly use. Stiles pulls his tongue out with a breathy noise and uses the tight ring of his mouth to push the foreskin back down, tongue laving over the head as he goes. Derek grips Stiles' head, feeling the hard bone of his skull, the soft strands of hair, needing something to focus on other than the sloppy suction down the _entire_ length of his dick, Jesus fucking Christ, shuddering as Stiles exhales sharply from his nose into the hairs at the base of Derek's dick, pulling back with his mouth far looser, almost a tease of friction, only to do it all over again.

Stiles quickly establishes a rhythm, hands gripping hard into Derek's thighs as he works his mouth, gasping and moaning like he's getting the better deal hear, each moan sending shocky vibrations through the entire length of Derek's spine until his hair is standing on end at the crown of his head and his arms are shaking. Every time Stiles' nose hits Derek's belly, every time Derek can feel the sucking flutter at the back of Stiles' throat, a gasping, “Fuck” or “Stiles” is forced out of him, over and over until he feels like he might cry if he doesn't come.

He tugs on Stiles' hair, his orgasm beginning to build to an almost painful crescendo, but Stiles only sits back on his heels somewhat, mouth open and red, lips all shiny and abused looking, as he jacks Derek off, tongue darting out to lick. Derek's stomach clenches, his toes curl up tight, and he holds Stiles' face carefully in his hands, gasping out nonsense when Stiles darts forward and begins to suckle carefully on the head of Derek's dick. He can fucking _feel_ Stiles' tongue playing with the bit of foreskin on the underside and that does it, spurt after spurt of his come pulses out of him into Stiles' mouth, Derek running his thumbs over and over Stiles' cheekbones keeping him in place, keeping him there where he can taste every drop.

He's holding on, panting, legs shaking as Stiles gets to his feet with a wince. “Dude, you have _got_ to invest in some rugs so—” 

Derek pulls him in for a deep, searing kiss, cutting off whatever Stiles was going to say. He buries his hands in Stiles' hair, holding him where Derek wants him, legs wrapping around Stiles' waist. After a moment, Stiles huffs a laugh against Derek's mouth, pressing soft kisses just under Derek's jaw, his broad hands at Derek's sides, almost in his armpits like he wants to pick Derek up. Derek laughs at the thought.

“So I'm a fan,” Stiles says in a put-on matter-of-fact tone. “Thumbs up, would suck again.”

Derek runs his palm over the top of Stiles' head, cupping the back of his neck and bringing their foreheads together. “Do you need to write up a report or something, or can we get in bed so you can fuck me, already?”

Stiles manages to slip and almost fall while standing still, how the _hell_ is that even possible?

“Really?” he asks, gripping himself low.

Derek looks at his cock, cut, so hard it looks painful, long and not ridiculously thick, but thick enough where Derek will feel it. Good thing he has plenty of lube. He wants that inside him now, wants Stiles to pin him down by the back of his neck, take him from behind, make him feel it for days. He realizes he's telling Stiles this because Stiles' hands begin to shake and his head is nodding. Derek takes Stiles hands in his, puts one to his mouth and says, “And when you're ready to blow, I want you to pull out, flip me over, and come down my throat. Wanna know if you taste like I imagined you would.”

Stiles starts backing away, squeezing his balls and dick now, and swallows hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”


	8. Just The TIp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **HEED THIS WARNING** : if you're not familiar with this concept (just the tip) it's potentially dub-con. I hopefully have written in a way that takes that out, but there is no explicit consent here, which is the point of this trope, once again. Choose your own adventure, yeah?
> 
> Not based off an image, this time. Derek POV, somewhat in the future, what it says on the tin. (From [my Tumblr page here](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/98777203643/dirty-porn-for-heidi-just-the-tip).)

Derek’s head tipped back, both of his hands tearing at his hair as Stiles sucked him down again and again and again. His legs were holding Stiles in place—not that Stiles was trying to leave—helpless noises, moans, grunts, fuck yeahs pouring out of his mouth as Stiles worked his mouth and his throat around Derek’s dick, fingers slick with lube and sweat endlessly tracing the tight circle of Derek’s ass as he did.

He’d never—it’s just that no one had ever touched Derek… _there_  before. He’d always been with women and it had been more about pleasing them than taking his own pleasure.

But with Stiles…it was new, they were still figuring things out, but Stiles was so insistent on Derek enjoying himself. Stiles was in competition with himself, wanting to make each time they were together more memorable than the last. If he could get Derek off with his hand one time, he wanted to see if he could get Derek to the edge with his hand and then finishing it with just his voice whispering filth in Derek’s ear the next.

And now here they were, back at Derek’s loft with Derek spread out on his bed as Stiles licked and kissed every square inch of him, cataloging every intake of breath, every sigh, every gasp, every—

“Stiles,  _fuck_!”

Stiles pulled off Derek’s cock, smirking and still stroking Derek’s hole with sure fingers, the tip of his index finger slightly more insistent than the rest. “Like that?” he asked, his voice a little breathless as the tip of his finger hooked on the rim, tugging it a little. Derek couldn’t help but arch and writhe on the sheets, almost mindless with how good it felt to have Stiles’ warm, solid chest against Derek’s thighs, his breath hot and humid over Derek’s sac, his fingers endlessly circling and pressing, the nerves lighting up Derek’s entire spine until the hairs on his arms were standing on end.

He nodded, eyes shut tight against the heady picture of Stiles looking fucked out just from fingering and sucking Derek off, jesus fucking christ. Somehow Stiles had managed to work his entire index finger in there, twisting and circling, thrusting and tugging. Derek nodded again, sighing out, “Like that,” when Stiles used his other hand to stroke around the finger already inside him. Goddamn, he never knew that could feel so fucking—

Stiles’ hands disappeared. Derek cracked one eye open to find Stiles up on his knees, twisting away and pumping lube into his hand. He stroked himself, rubbing Derek’s thigh with his free hand, and shushed him. “I just need a little more, okay? You’ll like it, I promise.”

“What… What?” Derek asked, unable to push himself up on his elbows, so he fell back and licked his lips, reaching out to pull Stiles back.

Stiles rubbed the rest of the lube high up under Derek’s balls, slicking him up and pressing kisses up Derek’s stomach and chest until they were face to face. “Just…” Stiles eyes were barely open, lashes lush and fluttering over his beautiful brown eyes, his mouth was bruised and red, teeth buried in his bottom lip as he nosed all over Derek’s face, biting and licking at Derek’s jaw, his hips moving in shallow thrusts against Derek’s thigh. “Just let me have a little something, okay?”

Derek swallowed, moaning when Stiles bit at Derek’s neck, sucking sharply and pulling off with a pop. “I don’t… But I’ve never—”

“Shh shh,” Stiles said, cupping Derek’s face with his clean hand, guiding his dick between Derek’s thighs with the other. “Like this, okay? Put your legs together.”

Derek clutched Stiles’ hard length between his thighs, slick from lube, his hands gripping Stiles’ back when Stiles began to slowly drag his cock back and forth underneath Derek’s balls, stroking his perineum where Derek was so sensitive and wanting, jouncing off the tight rim of Derek’s asshole before pulling back languorously and doing it all over again and again.

“Yeah, okay, yeah, fuck,” Derek breathed, pulling Stiles’ face back to his for a deep and filthy kiss. He couldn’t stand them not touching everywhere, god, they were slick and sliding against one another, connected from the tops of their feet and thighs to their bellies, chest, arms wrapped around one another, mouths working against each other as they thrust, arced and moaned, Stiles begging nonsense against Derek’s neck every time Stiles’ dick worked in between the hot clench of Derek’s thighs.

“So good,” Stiles whined, thrusting hard and deep, Derek’s hands clenching Stiles’ tight ass, feeling the muscles work as Stiles worked him, god damn, he had no idea it could  _feel_  like this.

“ _Fuck_ , Derek, want—” He stopped talking when Derek shuddered underneath him, unsatisfied with lying tight under him, wanting to wrap his legs back around Stiles, hold him close. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good, it felt fucking amazing to be touched like that, for his dick to be trapped between their bodies, getting stroked off just from how intensely they were grinding against each other, but something was missing.

If he could just get  _closer_. His skin was buzzing, his fucking  _bones_  were aching to have something else, something that he couldn’t quite figure out.

Stiles shifted to the side, reaching down between their bodies to take his own cock in hand, dragging the head of his dick against Derek’s hole roughly and whispering in Derek’s ear, “Want you so much, you know that?” Derek was helpless to do anything but nod, taking the break to do what he’d wanted, to wrap his leg around Stiles’ waist, pinning him in place, arching up against that tight pressure of Stiles’ dick against him, his breath coming in harsh and sharp, his mind almost crazed with need but not knowing what to fucking do about it.

“You know I want you, right?”

Derek opened his eyes to see Stiles looking down, sweat beaded up above his lip, his hair damp at his temples, eyes boring into Derek’s, looking for something permission, something extra. Whatever it was, he had it, had  _him._  Derek nodded, licking his lips and pulling Stiles back for a kiss, hating how long they’d been apart already.

“Just let me,  _please,_ ” Stiles breathed into Derek’s mouth, the pressure between Derek’s legs increasing intensely. “Fuck, Derek,  _baby—_  Just…  _god_  want you to just let me a little.”

Derek tightened his leg keeping Stiles in place, thrusting up and feeling reckless, like he was about to fly apart because there was something missing. He wouldn’t let himself really figure out why, just knew that Stiles would know.

“Can I? Fuck, Derek, can I? Promise you’ll like it, I fucking  _promise_.”

Derek was almost out of his mind with how good it felt as Stiles dragged his dick back and forth over Derek’s hole, pressing in the center until Derek’s legs began to shake, how good it felt to have Stiles’ mouth against his ear, panting and begging and praising him.

“Huh?” Derek said, arching and rocking down when that hard pressure that made his breath catch stuttered briefly.

“Yeah, just…” Stiles bit his lip and looked between them and moved just the barest amount, and heat rocketed up Derek’s spine, hard, almost painful pressure between his legs that sent his teeth chattering and his hands shaking. He gripped Stiles’ shoulders when Stiles gasped out in pleasure.

“Just give me a little… Oh my fucking god, Derek,” Stiles moaned as the sensation grew, Derek’s mouth open, his head back against the pillow and his legs spreading open of their own volition as the feeling of something foreign, of something  _huge_ pressed just inside and stopped. “Yeah—God dammit  _shit_ , I fucking love you,” Stiles cried out, driving in just a bit more and clutching Derek’s face with both hands, kissing him deeply as his hips stuttered and thrust shallowly.

Derek, stretched and open in a way he wasn’t used to, could feel wetness pulsing inside his body, vaguely aware of what was happening but uncaring at the moment as Stiles rocked against him, snaking a hand between their bodies again to grip and tug on the head of Derek’s cock like he’d learned just last week would send Derek over the edge.

With a noise he would have been embarrassed by if he’d been anything but drunk on fucking, Derek dug his heels into the mattress and shot off between their bodies, Stiles swallowing down his noises with kisses and praise.

Stiles huffed out a laugh, collapsing on Derek’s chest and holding him tight. Derek buried both hands into Stiles’ messy hair, catching his own breath and trying to figure out what had just happened. Stiles pulled back and peppered gentle kisses over the high arches of Derek’s cheekbones and his temple, nuzzling there as he said softly, “Now you know it won’t really hurt and next time you can let me go all the way in.”

Derek nodded helplessly, still trying to breath normally as he felt Stiles’ come dripping out of his ass.


	9. The One Where Stiles and Derek were Neighbors Growing up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #9 [Image is here](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/100288713082/i-cant-believe-you-guys-like-the-giants-stiles). [A younger looking Derek Hale type on his back in a bedroom, a buzz-cut young man kissing him deeply as he penetrates. The Derek Hale look alike has toes curling and flexing over and over.]
> 
> Stiles POV, College AU, next-door neighbors turned lovers, childhood crushes

“I can't believe you guys like the Giants,” Stiles said, smirking as he pulled Derek's sweatpants off, tossing them to the side and off the bed.

“You better be glad my family likes—” Derek gasped when Stiles licked over his hole, already so eager after spending an entire first half of a football game with the Hales screaming for their team, and Stiles' dad quietly smiling every time the Cowboys scored. “Oh, fuck.”

When Stiles got nervous, he covered with bravado. He popped his head up, dropping an open mouthed, silly kiss on Derek's belly. Fuck, Derek had great abs. “Don't worry, baby,” he soothed. “We will."

Derek rolled his eyes and shoved a laughing Stiles back down, but not before Stiles saw the quirk of Derek's lips in his almost-a-smile. Better was the way Derek's thighs tightened around Stiles' shoulders when he worked the tip of his tongue inside, teasing just the inside of the rim with a flickering twirl, hands shaking at how amazed he was to have this, to be tasting and touching Derek like this.

God, never in a million years of growing up next to the aloof, handsome and totally out of his league Derek Hale did Stiles ever think he'd be here, with Derek spread out under him, writhing and moaning because of what Stiles was doing to him. After all, he'd been a few years younger, gangly, super nerdy, and he'd believed he was totally off Derek's radar.

That was until Stiles came home from UC-BH for the Thanksgiving week and got a literal double take from his old neighbor as Derek pulled his mail from their box. Since a hilariously awkward talk that led to them hanging on the porch catching up until the street lights started coming on, they'd spent every day together at one or the other's house. Today was the first time they'd had a chance to break away from their families, finally give in to the sexual tension that had been building between them for days. As soon as it became clear that Talia wasn't paying attention to anything but the way her team was playing this game, Derek had nodded towards the stairs from where he'd been leaning against the wall.

Stiles fumbled out some excuse he was completely sure his dad didn't buy, and was hot on his heels, pulse racing at the thought that this might happen, and that if it did, it would be in Derek's childhood bedroom. Now they were laid out on Derek's bed, Stiles with two fingers and his tongue up Derek's ass, and Derek making the sweetest fucking noises Stiles had ever heard in his life.

“Fuck, Stiles, lube— It's there.”

Stiles looked up just in time to see Derek wave a hand towards his side table before burying it back into his inky black hair.

Stiles sat back on his heels, two fingers still inside as far as they could go, circling and rubbing inside, mouth dropped open in a perfect mirror of how Derek was.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “I didn't bring any condoms.”

Derek's hands dropped to the mattress above his head. God damn, he already looked fucked out, eyes glassy, hair a mess, mouth open, tongue teasing his bottom lip where it looked like he'd been chewing on it. “Do...” He swallowed and licked his lips. “Do you need one? Because, um, I don't. Coach had us get tested for everything before the season started.”

Stiles closed his eyes, one hand around his balls as he tried to hold off from coming just then. “Oh my god, Derek...” He nodded. He was; he'd only been with one other person, they'd always used condoms, and Stiles had gone with Scott to the free clinic and had gotten tested as well as a sign of solidarity. This was... Fuck, he knew he shouldn't do this without proof. “Are you sure?”

“So you're clean?” Derek asked. “Because your dad's the Sheriff, so I'm pretty sure—”

Stiles clapped his hand over Derek's mouth, pulling the other out from between Derek's legs slowly. “Don't mention my dad when I'm about to fuck you.”

“Yeah?” Derek said, sounding a little breathless. “Lot of big talk for someone whose dick isn't in me yet.”

Stiles smirked, sucking his teeth, nodding a little, like, 'Okay, buddy,' because there he was, the acerbic, snarky neighbor that Stiles had secretly been crushing on for about ten years. He leaned over slowly to kiss Derek, a simple press of lips until Derek reached up to cup the back of his head, tilting it slightly so he could slide his tongue in Stiles mouth.

“Fucking love how this feels,” Derek murmured, rubbing his hand over Stiles' buzz cut. “Always wondered.”

Stiles moaned softly into Derek's mouth. This week was officially the best week of his life. Derek started rutting up against him, and oh, right. He pulled away, then went back in to softly kiss Derek's bottom lip, then his top lip, nosing at him a little before pulling back and grabbing the lube off the table.

“Jeez, you plan for this?” he asked, snapping open the bottle and squeezing a little out. “Or are you just some kind of exhibitionist?”

Derek grinned, hands tucked behind his head, showing off how freaking amazing his body was: fit, broad-shouldered, tiny little waist that shouldn't even be possible for a guy of Derek's size. “Maybe just hoping a little bit.”

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Stiles said, sagging a little with how fucking amazing this all was. He started kissing Derek again, soft, desperate things, so grateful that they were here now, they were doing this, that Derek had actually wanted him before this week, and as his mouth gentled Derek into a state of calm, started fucking Derek with two lubed fingers, pushing as much as he could inside, drinking in every gasp, every whine, every _Stiles_ that Derek couldn't help.

“Please,” Derek moaned, pulling back and running a hand through his own hair. “Stiles, I need—”

“Okay, okay, shh,” Stiles said, kissing Derek under his jaw. He nodded down at Derek on his back. “Like this?”

“Yeah, if that's—”

Stiles couldn't have Derek looking nervous, because what? That was not a thing that should ever happen. “Of _course_ that's,” he replied, feeling a little cheeky, a little giddy that his childhood crush wanted _him._ He sat back on his heels, spreading the last of the lube over his cock, heart rabbiting in his chest at the hungry look in Derek's eyes.

The early fire that felt like it was going to burn through him with how much he wanted to finally be like this with Derek after all these years, after this week of hanging out and stealing kisses, after hearing confirmation that this wasn't one-sided, he no longer felt so desperate. He felt solid, sure, fucking _happy_ as he lined himself up, thrilling at how it felt to have his bare dick just there, the hot, slick ring of muscle pressing against the sensitive head of his dick.

Derek held the back of his thighs, arcing against the mattress while exhaling, “Stiles, please,” and with his chest tight with how much feeling was pulsing inside of him, Stiles pushed forward, the both of them gasping as he slid in. Stiles closed his eyes—he had to if he was going to last. He couldn't look at how beautiful Derek was just then, mouth open, eyes rolled back, perfectly sculpted chest heaving with his breaths as Stiles began to thrust slowly in and out, almost coming undone at how sweet the wet, bare friction of his cock in Derek's ass felt, how illicit, how fucking _good_.

Stiles braced himself on the backs of Derek's thighs, hands over where Derek was holding himself open and began a rolling rhythm, changing the angle until he could find just the right spot to make Derek—

With a loud whine, Derek clenched hard around him. “There, there, fuck, don't stop—”

Stiles saw Derek holding his legs open even wider, the powerful muscles of his thighs trembling, and Stiles dropped his hands just under Derek's hips, using his shoulders to keep Derek open for him, practically bending him in half as he captured Derek's mouth once again, hips driving forward unceasingly. “Won't, I won't, baby, holy _god,_ Derek, feel so good...”

Derek cupped Stiles' head again, the sensation of his palm rubbing round and round Stiles' close-shorn head coupled with the feeling of his dick bare and trapped inside the scorching, slick clench of Derek's body was almost sensory overload. His hips began to stutter when he could feel Derek's free hand slipping between their bodies, pressing his dick up against Stiles' hairy, sweaty belly for friction.

“Knew you'd be good,” Derek panted, licking across Stiles' bottom lip before kissing him deeply again. Against Stiles' open, panting mouth, he said, “Fucking wanted this for years.”

Stiles arched his back, thrusting in as deeply as he could, holding himself there and grinding in a slow, wide circle, eyes watering with how good it felt both to be fucking this boy he'd dreamed of and to have those feelings validated so easily.

“Gonna come for me?” He gasped, peppering Derek's face with kisses, watching as Derek nodded.

“Yeah,” Derek gasped, stroking his palm over his own cock, his fingertips ruffling the thick trail of hair on Stiles' belly, adding another sensation Stiles could barely catalog.

The only sound from then on were their gasps and heavy breathing, the wet slap of their bodies, and the occasional cheer or groan from downstairs. Derek arched, his whole body clenching as he moaned, “Oh,” over and over, holding Stiles by the back of his head against his chest, thighs locked tight around Stiles' shoulders as he came between them, the spasm of his hole on Stiles' dick making Stiles cry out.

Derek gulped in a huge breath, holding Stiles' face with both hands and kissing him deeply as he relaxed, sinking into a post-climax state of ease with his hips rocking gently against Stiles, who picked up his thrusting. It didn't take much; Derek drew the backs of his fingers down Stiles cheek and asked quietly, “Please, Stiles? For me,” and that was it. Stiles squeezed his arms tight around Derek's body and drove in as deep as he could get, coming over and over, mouth open in a shocked noise as he could feel his own come hot and wet around the head of his dick, coating Derek's insides.

He dropped his weight onto Derek's chest, trying to catch his breath as Derek scraped his fingernails over Stiles' scalp, over and over in a soothing way.

With a quiet voice, Derek asked, “Are you coming home for Christmas?”

Stiles mouthed at Derek's nipple, drawing the tip of his finger around it. “Are you?”

Derek nodded.

“Then I am, too.”

He smiled against Derek's chest when he felt Derek's pleased hum vibrate through his ribcage.


	10. The One Where They Finally Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #10, [Pic HERE](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/102062020498/pic-fic-finally-they-kiss-not-rated). [Image of two men, one smooth cheeked young man with red flushing his face passionately kissing a man with stubble] 
> 
> Stiles POV, angst, pining, romance (Not really rated)

“Guys, it's okay!”

“No, it's not, Scott,” Stiles says. His skin is buzzing with adrenaline, his hands are trembling, and his left knee is throbbing from where the fucking wendigo had knocked him into the side of the building, pinning him there until the cavalry had come.

Except the cavalry—aka Scott and Kira—didn't come. Derek did. Derek had been missing for weeks, each passing day making Stiles angrier and angrier for some reason, and suddenly shows up tonight, surprising both Stiles and the wendigo. In fact, he's standing on the walkway leading up to the building breathing hard, the wounds on his chest and arms slowly healing and it makes Stiles so fucking angry. 

“Stiles,” Scott says, reaching out to hold Stiles' arm, but Stiles knocks it away.

“He doesn't get to do that, okay?” He points at Derek as he says it and realizes his hand is shaking.

“Stiles,” Scott says quietly, hands up like Stiles might fight him. “He got to you in time, right? You're not hurt?”

“No, Scotty, I'm—” He exhales harshly and scrubs his hands over his head. He can't deal with the worried look Derek sends him just then, before standing still while Kira looks over his torn shoulder. “That's not it. I'm not hurt.”

“You smell hurt,” Scott says, looking worried.

Kira looks up at the two of them with understanding in her eyes, and she nods at Stiles. “Babe, it's a different kind of hurt. Scott, maybe we should...”

Scott looks at Stiles, then over at his girlfriend and healing beta. He nods to himself, then leans in towards his best friend and mutters, “Go easy on him. I don't think— Just go easy on him.”

“What?” Stiles asks, standing there dumbly as Scott claps a hand on Derek's healed shoulder and Kira gives Derek a quick squeeze before they both leave, melting away into the dark night.

“Why are you even still here?” Stiles asks after a few awkward moments of looking at Derek as Derek looks at the cement under his feet. He's wound up tighter than a rubber band about to snap. “Why are you here? I thought you fucked off to—” 

“Are you sure you're okay?” Derek asks, looking up at where Stiles is slowly vibrating into a whole new level of anger and frustration.

“Derek. Why are you here? Tonight? Now?”

Derek stares at him, mouth slightly open, looking vulnerable and worried and god, handsome and heroic, and Stiles just wants to smash his fist into Derek's perfect face because he missed him, okay?

“Had to make sure you were okay,” Derek says, looking back at the ground, at the landing behind Stiles where the remains of the wendigo are smoking into ash, at the center of Stiles' chest where Stiles knows his heart is racing, he knows. He probably stinks of fear and rage and nerves and—

“I want you,” Stiles says, his voice even and icy, “to either stay put or fuck off for good.” There was a momentary sharp prick of satisfaction as hurt flashed across Derek's face, one which quickly became a sour turning in his stomach at Derek's tight nod. 

No. No, Derek was not going to just clam up now, just sit there and take whatever Stiles wants to dish out. That is not how this works. “You don't get to just come and go like that, okay?” Stiles says, arms wide. “We're supposed to be a pack!”

“Scott doesn't need...” Derek shakes his head, an infinitesimally tiny movement, and sighs. “You guys are pack.”

“We!” Stiles shouts, banging his palm against his chest and stepping forward. “We are a pack. You're a part of that. Or you were. Fuck, why are you so damn obtuse? Don't you care about what happens to us? You fuck off for seventeen days, don't tell anyone where you're going, and just, what, turn up, randomly saving the day? Do you get off on that?”

“Stiles...”

It's the world-weary tone that set Stiles off. Like, who the hell did Derek think he was, after all these years of them fighting side by side, being each other's support and fucking anchor, really. They had each other's backs. Or they did. Now, though...

“Don't Stiles me. You do, don't you? Oh, you love swooping in like the poor, tortured hero, the goddamn lone wolf, not giving two shits about the rest of us back here at home, worried fucking sick that something's happened to you.”

The corner of Derek's mouth quirks in a wry sort of grin. He laughs humorlessly. “No one worries about me, Stiles.”

Stiles groans, tearing at his hair, his chest aching and eyes stinging. How can Derek— He's on the last step, close enough to reach out and knock his forehead into Derek's, maybe break Derek's nose. “I do, you got that? I fucking worry about you!”

Derek stands there like a little boy being told off by his father, head hanging and nodding. “Sorry. I didn't mean for you to, didn't think anyone—” 

“You always do this!”

Derek looks up again, and he looks wrecked. Worse, he looks guilty.

“You act like you don't have worth, like it's okay for people to be mad at you. You fucking...” He punches at Derek's shoulder, like he'd done a million times to Scott, and Derek braces himself just before Stiles makes contact, closes his eyes, clenches his jaw and adjusts his stance, and something in Stiles just breaks. 

“No. You do not— Why the fuck are you okay with that? With me just...” Stiles motions towards him, just slightly below him on the walk.

“It's fine, Stiles.”

“No, it fucking well isn't. Stop trying to sacrifice yourself all the time, okay? You're not alone, Derek. Not if you don't want to be. You don't have to put your goddamn life on the line every single time. You're not 'fixing things' if you die, you got that? You're going to fucking ruin everything we're trying to build here. You think dying isn't going to tear me—” 

Stiles cuts himself off because he realizes this is true, that Derek means something to him, that Derek constantly throwing himself on a grenade to save him, Scott and the others is going to end up with Derek just gone. Gone and never coming back gone. And if that happens, Stiles will lose his freaking mind. Derek looks up at him shocked, like he can't believe that someone thinks he's worth something more than just a source of muscle or information, and that's it. Stiles cannot possibly live with himself if he walks away from this with Derek not understanding. Not knowing how fucking important he is, how much he fucking means to Stiles. Like, he physically can't take one more second of Derek being in the dark about that.

He surges forward, cups Derek's face in his hand and leans down in order to kiss him, his heart pounding in his chest, his face tingling with the sensation of Derek's stubble against his smooth cheek, the heat pouring off Derek's body making him both wholly lax and fully alert to how much this means, how much he wants. 

After a moment where he's sure he stops breathing, he realizes suddenly how still and compliant Derek's lips are against his. How Derek is just barely reacting to what Stiles is doing—doing to Derek, oh, Christ. With a hurt little sound, Stiles pulls back, his chest in a vice and shame flooding him to the point where he thinks he could literally drown from how upset with himself he is.

“I'm so sorry. Derek, I'm so— Oh, fuck.”

Derek just looks up at him, shocked, pupils blown and breath coming in harsh inhalation. Holy shit, Stiles broke him. Stiles isn't thinking and just does what he wants, and he has broken Derek.

“Derek,” Stiles says, shaky hand wiping at his mouth where it still tingles from stubble, “don't just let me kiss you, don't ever let anyone take something from you that you don't want to give, okay?” He's freaking out, but he has to say it. “I only want to if you—”

Derek pulls him back and kisses him more fiercely, arm looping around Stiles' shoulders to keep him there. Stiles has no plans on going anywhere that isn't right here: enveloped in Derek's arms, being kissed within an inch of his life. 

Derek buries both hands in Stiles' hair, giving his head a gentle shake as he pulls back, smiling soft and sweet and breaking Stiles' heart all over again with how gentle it is. “I do,” Derek eventually says, dragging the tip of his nose along Stiles' cheek. “I want. Have wanted. Just didn't know if you did, too.”

“Yeah?”

Derek huffs out a soft laugh, cupping the back of Stiles' neck. He kisses him softly, pulling their bodies together as his lips move slow and steady over Stiles' mouth, his jaw, just behind his ear, and back to trace the edge of Stiles' lower lip with its plush fullness, the tickle of stubble an entirely new and wholly welcomed sensation. Stiles is pretty sure he's close to dying. 

“Yeah,” Derek breathes against Stiles' mouth.

“Will—will you come home?” Stiles asks, smoothing Derek's hair from where he'd gripped it earlier, not wanting to exist in a world where they're not touching each other.

Derek noses along Stiles neck, dropping kisses and nodding. “I am.”

Stiles closes his eyes as Derek nibbles on the skin just under his jaw, sighing soft and warm against Stiles' skin. "I meant Beacon Hills."

“That, too.”


	11. The One Where Derek Wants To Say 3 Words [But Won't]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic #11 - [[Images are here](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/103600881878/pic-fic-the-one-where-derek-wants-to-say-3-words), a series of four VERY NSFW images depicting a pale, beauty-marked body writhing atop a hirsute man, both extremely affectionate and playful] 
> 
> Derek POV, Future Fic, Stiles home from Junior year in college, Derek worried about their future--if he can even have it.

“Missed you,” Stiles breathed, mouth skating along Derek's cheek and hips grinding down in a slow roll.

“Missed you, too,” Derek replied, hands keeping Stiles in place as he arched his back, keeping their chests—already growing slick with sweat—in contact. College was proving to be hard on them. Harder than they thought it would be. They were making it, dealing, but these brief moments when Stiles could take a break and come home, slip away from his dad and friends, and the two of them could just _be_ —

Well, Derek wanted to make the most of it. Wanted to drag it out, wanted to prolong the time when they'd finally come, shaking and gasping in each other's arms, when Derek would already be craving more—more touch, more Stiles, more _time_ —when they would fall asleep together, even though it usually ended with Stiles waking frantically, saying that he had to get back to his dad for whatever event they'd planned.

Just one more year, one more year of texts and phone calls and scorchingly hot yet still unsatisfying Skype sessions until Stiles could come home for good. Until Stiles would be _Derek's_ for good. Derek couldn't turn off the part of his hind brain that kept reminding him that everyone he loved had left, had died, or had just walked away from him. Every time Stiles went back to school, he couldn't help but wait for a call, a text, some sort of “We need to talk” conversation that would prove the rule of Derek's life.

But that had no place in his mind right now, not when he had everything he wanted— _who_ he wanted in his arms.

“Kiss me,” Stiles breathed, his lower lip red and swollen and bitten from when he'd walked in the door an hour before, tearing his jacket off, smirking, and flinging himself into Derek's arms with a deep and booming laugh before attacking Derek's mouth.

Instead of retorting, Derek dragged his hands up Stiles' smooth skin as his mouth found Stiles', kissing him deeply, pouring in every ounce of desire and need into it without saying all he felt, all he hoped this was leading to—the two of them, always. He didn't want to pressure Stiles; he knew how hard Stiles was working towards his graduation, how he was still trying to find his ideas for his own future. 

Derek never wanted Stiles to think he wasn't wanted, never wanted Stiles to think that Derek wasn't planning for the time when there would no longer be heart-wrenching goodbyes, the both of them tight lipped and stoic and thinking it was what was for the best, the scent of ache and longing pouring off of Stiles so thickly it choked Derek every time until he thought he'd drown in it.

What _was_ for the best was this: Stiles draped over Derek, grounding him and centering him as he kissed Derek senseless, Derek's dick hard and aching but not sliding home, the anticipation of what was to come a precursor to the rest of their life together.

Derek's hands tightened on Stiles' waist at the thought of that: their lives, _together_. 

He could feel Stiles' smile and soft laugh against his neck and pushed back gently on Stiles' chest so they could see one another; he never got to see enough of Stiles. Derek sucked in a breath at the sight: Stiles' cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling in the low light of Derek's bedroom, his smile soft and private as he began undulating his hips, working his ass over the slick head of Derek's cock, teasing himself on it, not quite giving them what they both knew they wanted.

“Hate being away so long,” Stiles murmured, dipping down to run the tip of his nose along Derek's eyebrow, over Derek's cheek, nuzzling in at the hinge of Derek's jaw before biting the hard edge gently with his blunt teeth.

Derek couldn't find a place to allow his hands to still; Stiles was so warm, his skin soft and smooth, the lean muscle undeniably pleasant to the touch as Stiles worked his body over Derek's. After a few moments of allowing Stiles to tease him, Stiles gasped, “Derek, can I?” and that was it. Derek tightened his arms around Stiles, his hands sliding low to grip Stiles' ass as Derek curved his hips, just letting the head of his dick breach Stiles' ready hole and holding it there, keeping Stiles open and wanting, waiting.

Stiles shook in his arms, gasping and trying to rock back, trying to bury Derek inside his body, but Derek was holding him still, trying to recalibrate his mind from how just hours before he'd been desperate for this, anxious for Stiles to come home still wanting him and with how here he now was, here _they_ were, and all too soon it would be over, Stiles would leave, and Derek would have to pretend it didn't gut him every time he saw that blue Jeep rolling away from the Stilinski house.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment against Derek's before begging, “Derek, please. Babe, _please_ , I _need_ you.”

Derek's head fell back against the pillow with a tiny sigh, the tightness around his chest loosening. As he drove steadily forward up into Stiles' wet and ready heat, driving in in in until he could go no further, he cupped Stiles' face with both hands, watching as Stiles' eyes slipped closed looking blissed out and satisfied. 

Heart full and aching, Derek said, “Need you, too,” before capturing Stiles' mouth with his own.

They worked their bodies in a well-practiced rhythm, breathless and slightly desperate, hands never leaving one another, their heated, sweaty bodies close, and somehow still not close enough. Because at the end of the night, Stiles would leave and Derek would be alone again. Derek slipped his hands over Stiles' skin, one hand low and cupping a hip, the other holding Stiles' neck as they kissed, hips snapping up, barely able to draw back out for fear of losing that tight grip on his pistoning dick, not ready to leave any embrace Stiles could give him.

“Shh, Derek,” Stiles breathed, pushing up onto his hands, head hanging down, nose drawing along Derek's cheek and hips rocking back against Derek's. “Not going anywhere.”

Derek blinked sweat out of his eyes, swallowing thickly and looking up. “You'll stay?”

Stiles nodded, sighing as he sank back, circling his hips, the rough hairs on the tops of Derek's thighs crinkling against Stiles' flesh. “Told you,” he said, guiding Derek's hand to his dick before rocking back and forth again. “I _missed_ you. I _need_ you.”

Derek captured Stiles' mouth in a bruising kiss, hand working Stiles' cock and hips thrusting up into Stiles' body to bring them both to climax, their breathing shallow, little bitten off words and each other's names gasped into one another's mouth as they finally came together.

Derek wouldn't let Stiles get up just yet, holding him close, fingertips dragging up Stiles' spine as Stiles mouthed tiredly at Derek's neck, exhausted laughs huffing out warm and pleasantly over Derek's skin. Derek sighed with momentary contentment as Stiles' toes wiggled against his own before Stiles collapsed bodily on Derek's chest, knowing Derek could take the weight (he loved the weight).

He was staying. For now, at least. Derek pressed kiss after kiss against Stiles' temple, his cheek, his swollen mouth, wanting to keep three words from slipping out. He couldn't say those words. Not yet. He wanted to, god, but he wanted to. But he couldn't.

Not until Stiles could stay for good. _Then_. That was when he knew he could say it, could tell Stiles how much he cared: when he knew Stiles wasn't going to leave him like everyone always did.

He shuddered in Stiles arms, holding him tightly as Stiles sighed and sank further into contentment.

He'll say it one day. He will.


	12. The One Where Kate Works On Her Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Underage (Kate Argent/Derek Hale, so it's canon compliant)  
> [[Image #13](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/107637320378/she-gave-the-guest-suite-where-she-was-staying-a)] A young, coltish-limbed man with black hair has enthusiastic sex with a pale-brown haired woman atop a comfortable bed, visible wall of books in the background.
> 
> Kate POV, Pre-fire, dark(ish)

She gave the guest suite where she was staying a final look over, making sure there weren't any weapons or Argent sigils within view. She'd already told Gerard to stay away for the night, that she would be training her pet. The thought of it made her grin.

And like the very good boy that she knew he was, Derek arrived at exactly 9 o'clock, late enough where he could sneak out of hanging with his high school buddies after basketball practice and not raise any suspicions with his Alpha mother. It wouldn't do to blow her cover, after all, not after all the work she'd invested. She still had plenty of time to... play.

At the door, Derek smiled his thousand watt grin, looking over her in her negligee appreciatively before stepping in and checking out their surroundings. Talia had trained him to do that much, at least, Kate thought. He took a few more steps inside, reaching for her, and sneezed. His eyes narrowed as he glanced over at the wall of books--bestiaries and spell books, a few dried leaves of wolfsbane pressed between the pages of some of the histories of all the main hunters families, books that went back a thousand years, not that he would know--and she slipped her hand into the front of his basketball shorts, palming his growing hardon and began nibbling on his ear, rubbing the silk of her attire against his young, lithe body.

With all the fake worry she could manage into her voice, she asked, "You getting sick?" squeezing him just at the base of his dick. God, it was such a shame that he was an animal and would have to be put down. He was one of the best assignments she'd had in ages, had trained him to please her just right, too. Pity.

He shook his head, lips finding hers and hands sliding down her sides, over her hips, the back of her thighs, pulling her up easily with his unnatural strength, carrying her to the bed, always so eager, so ready for her.

She giggled and batted at him with her toe as she fell back against the pillows. "Mmm, you're so strong," she simpered, making a "come here" motion with her index finger.

"I guess," he preened, shrugging a little in what she knew was fake modesty, and then he proceeded to strip out of his clothes efficiently. He clearly was young enough to take pride in his strength, young enough not to know he needed to hide it, young enough to still seek her approval for his body as he revealed himself to her. Well, as he revealed his false human facade. She knew better, though. She knew what he really was. She knew how short his life--and the life of his entire pack--would be.

She guided his face down between her legs, sighing as he worked his mouth over her, just as she'd taught him, shivering for a moment when he got it _just right_. Getting them young was the key -- they were so teachable, so trainable. And Derek was; at sixteen he was so young, so full of pride.

He'll be so wonderful to break.

...but not just yet.


	13. The One With the Drifter/Hobo Debate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are short one-offs I've posted to my Tumblr, gathered here. Each fic is based on a graphic sexual image, all found freely on the internet. Each fic is its own chapter. Each fic is unrelated beyond the pairing, meaning you don't have to read in order. Each fic's summary will be detailed--including any applicable warnings--in the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [THIS IS NOW ITS OWN MULTI-CHAPTERED FIC](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3751597?view_full_work=true)  
>  :)

KING OF THE ROAD

[THIS IS NOW ITS OWN MULTI-CHAPTERED FIC](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3751597?view_full_work=true) (I wish you could link/spin off from established chaptered fics, but you can't, so I decided to make a new fic for your ease in reading, and thanks for the support, Jan! ;)


	14. The One With Show And Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Image [here](http://www.ladycheeky.com/post/116307689873/his-lady-in-the-streets-what-a-visual-unf), showing a lean young man, shirt open and pants shoved down to his thighs, beauty marks dappled here and there, jerking himself for the viewer's pleasure] 
> 
> Basically it's Skype sex.

“Show me.”

Stiles laughed, rubbing his hand over the top of his head. “Right. Yeah, okay.” Stiles turned to look to where Derek knew Stiles’ dorm door was, probably was locked, even. Stiles looked back at the camera, smiling nervously but didn’t make a move.

Derek sat back in his chair, the self-view on the Skype window showing his full body, legs spread, hands behind his head, eyes directly at the camera, just like he knew Stiles liked. He waited until he saw Stiles’ Adam’s apple bob from swallowing before he let his eyes flash and his fangs drop slightly. “Show. Me.”

“Dude,” Stiles breathed, but Derek saw his hand dart just out of view of the screen, probably adjusting himself. That’s just what Derek wanted.

“Stiles.”

Stiles laughed again, but there wasn’t much breath to it. A slow, dirty grin bloomed across Derek’s face. He knew he had him, now. Sometimes Stiles just needed reminding that Derek found him ridiculously attractive.

“I can’t just… What?” Stiles said, rubbing the top of his head again in a way that showed he was nervous. “Show— What?”

“It’s okay. I’ll walk you through it,” Derek said, adjusting himself where he knew Stiles could see, could see the fat, hard line of his dick pressing up against his tight jeans. “Stand up.”

After a minute of Stiles chewing on his lip, he huffed out an annoyed sound and pushed to standing. The camera didn’t show his face, just his torso, his hips, the barest top of his thighs.

“Unbutton your shirt for me.”

Derek was pretty sure he could see Stiles’ hand shaking for a moment before he made the decision and started pushing the buttons through their holes, starting at the bottom and working his way up.

“Did you wax?” Derek asked when Stiles rubbed at his pec.

“No?” he heard Stiles reply and could see the self-conscious shrug. “I just got carried away with the razor in the shower, I guess.” Stiles moved like he was going to close his shirt, hiding his pale skin, the beauty marks Derek knew intimately. “Is that… You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Derek replied, staring at the screen where he could see Stiles’ nipples beginning to peak. He knew just what that felt like in his mouth, under his tongue, their hard buds when he caught them gently between his teeth and suckled until Stiles was a sobbing mess underneath him. “Just noticed. I like to notice things about you.”

“Y-yeah?” Stiles asked.

“Mm,” Derek replied. “You always look good to me.” He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans to give his cockhead some breathing room. “Let me see you. All of you.”

“Fuck,” Stiles hissed. “Okay, just…” Derek watched Stiles’ hands as they quickly worked his zipper, pushing his jeans down his hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his ratty old boxers.

“Wait,” Derek said.

Stiles hands immediately stilled, a miracle in and of itself.

“Outline it. Let me see how hard you are for me.”

“Jesus, dude,” Stiles breathed, pulling his boxers taut over his erection. That’s just what Derek wanted to feel, wanted to taste, but he couldn’t, not for another week.

“You wet for me?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles said, fingertips running along the edge of his dick. Stiles had a great dick, long, just thick enough to feel it for days, and uncut. The fucking smell of him, the  _taste_  of him just at the head was something Derek had quickly become addicted to.

“Will you show me?”

Stiles’ hands shoved his boxers down at that, one hand cupping his balls, the other holding his dick out as he almost swayed towards his laptop, close enough that Derek could see the shiny pearlescent drop at the tip.

“You always taste so good, baby,” Derek sighed. “Wish I could taste it now.” He grinned at the sight of Stiles hunching forward with a sharp jerk and moaning at that.

“ _Fuck_ , Derek. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” he replied. “I’ll show you how much when you get back home.”

“Promise?”

Derek grinned. “Always. You gonna fuck me when you get home?” He laughed at the sight of Stiles crumpling forward, one hand squeezing low on his dick.

“Fucker.” Stiles gripped the desk with one hand, his face twisted in both pleasure and pain as he stared at Derek. “And yeah. Yeah, I’ll fuck you, shit. Anything you want.”

Derek pulled himself out at that, giving himself a long, leisurely stroke. It’d been weeks since they’d been together, weeks since they’d taken hours with each other’s bodies, filthy with come and sweat, unable to keep their hands off each other. “Gonna take your time? Or just wreck me?”

Stiles stood back up, his face ducking out of frame. He cupped one of his pecs and held himself out with the other, presenting himself to Derek. “Depends,” he said, running his finger under his foreskin so Derek could see it, the blunt tip stretching the thin skin just under the head. “If you’re gagging for it—”

Derek laughed.

“—then I’ll take my time. Maybe open you up with my tongue, get my fingers in there while I eat you out.” Derek was transfixed as Stiles’ hips began mindlessly fucking forward, his thick cock slipping easily through his grip. “Get you to come from that first, maybe pass out. How would you like waking up to me popping this in your ass?” he asked, forcing just the head of his dick through his hand for Derek to see. “Just feel this—just this—pushing in?”

Derek sighed, squeezing his balls. He didn’t get how Stiles could just say the right thing, could do the right thing to make him harder than he’d ever been in his life, but that was one of the reasons why he was so fucking gone on the guy. “Yeah,” Derek sighed. “I think we could do that.”

“Maybe wake you up with my hand on the back of your neck holding you down—” Derek shifted lower in his seat as Stiles’ hips began to thrust with more purpose. “—slowly dipping in and out of you, just the fucking tip in and out until you told me you wanted more. You  _needed_  more.”

“Yeah,” Derek breathed, reaching to the side to squeeze a pump of lotion into his hands. He knew how much Stiles liked to hear the wet squelch of him jerking it.

“You want me to hold you down?” Stiles asked, running the pad of his thumb over the head of his dick before taking himself in a long, slow stroke. “Or do you want me to lay on my back while you ride me?”

Derek let his head drop back, just far enough to ease the tension, the want in his body, but not too far that he couldn’t see the long, lean lines of his boyfriend fucking his own hand into his laptop’s camera.

“Yeah, I think you want to think you’re in control,” Stiles went on, his hips starting to thrust with more force. “You want to bounce on my dick, maybe put your hands on my throat, but when you get close, you know what you’ll want?”

Derek shook his head, his breathing coming in shallowly.

“You’re gonna want me to grab your hips and fuck up into you, you’re gonna want to hear the slap of my hips on your sweet, thick ass,  _fuck_ , Derek.” Stiles grabbed the desk, leaning forward so now Derek could see the dark, wiry hairs under Stiles’ arm where his shirt had fallen open, could see his chest heaving with his breath, could see the muscles tightening in his boyfriend’s belly from trying to hold back. “I’d fuck you so good, you know I would, right?”

“You always do,” Derek breathed, pulling his shirt up to his armpits as he felt his orgasm build.

“Gonna come for me?” Stiles asked, pulling his hand away for a moment before bringing it back. Derek knew he’d just licked his palm, needing more slick, could picture Stiles’ swollen, bitten lips, his flat, rough tongue against his broad palm, could remember the heft and heat of Stiles’ dick as it pounded into Derek’s ass, and he felt his toes try to grip inside his shoes, his hips stuttering up and breath catching as his orgasm hit, hot spurts of come landing on his belly as he stroked himself through it, gasping out Stiles’ name.

“Fuck, baby, you look so good,” Stiles whined, gripping himself at the base again.

Derek tried to catch his breath, tried to keep his eyes glued to the screen to see Stiles shoot, but Stiles’ belly heaved with his harsh breathing, hand holding his balls and dick tight.

“What are…” Derek asked, feeling out of it, a muscle deep in his thigh trembling. “Why?”

“Saving it,” Stiles gasped, his fingers curling up into a fist on the desk in front of his laptop. “Gonna go fucking tantric on you when I come home next week.”

Derek slumped low in his chair and tried to find the breath to laugh. “What… what are you  _talking_ about?”

Stiles bent over so his face was right in front of the camera. He had sweat on his upper lip, his eyes were blown, and he had the dirtiest, cockiest smirk on his face. “Derek, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so hard and so long when I see you that the bones in your fucking legs and  _feet_  are gonna ache.”

Derek laughed, throwing his arm over his face, not caring that his softening dick and a load of come was cooling on his belly. He got himself under control as much as possible, even though nothing could take what he knew must be a stupid love-sick look off his face. At least it would match the one on Stiles’ face just then. “Yeah? Promise?”

Stiles slumped back into his chair, shirt open, blotchy red patches high on his cheek and the center of his chest. He stroked himself once, shivered, then smiled slow and tender towards the camera with a hand over his heart. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thank you for reading! Originally appeared on [my Tumblr here](http://stoneyboboney.tumblr.com/post/116355452803/ficlet-the-one-with-show-and-tell-rated-e).] **And I'll[re-add the link, because you really should click](http://www.ladycheeky.com/post/116359829976/yum#notes) if you can.** Please do not link my fics' metadata on sites such as GR, Leafmarks,E-Books-Tree, etc. They belong on AO3 or my personal blog. Reccing (by linking here or my Tumblr) is not the same thing, and that's rather lovely for you to do so. :)

**Author's Note:**

> ([redacted] I cannot control where my fanworks' metadata is placed, even though I wish it to remain here. If I had a choice, my fanworks would remain in the realm of fandom in which I place it, aka non-corporate owned review sites such as GR. Personal review/rec lists are not to be considered the same thing and are something with which I have no issue.)


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